The carriage rocked gently as we pulled away from the main promenade, the polished cobblestone roads of the Nobility District clattering softly beneath the wheels. The horses were quiet and well-bred, their movements smooth, unbothered by the noise or the cold of the outside.
No engine hummed beneath us - Morren wasn't quite there yet. Border cities didn't get the latest luxuries.
Mary sat across from me, her expression composed as usual, but her fingers toyed with the edge of her coat sleeve, twisting the fabric in a subconscious loop.
"This acquaintance of yours," I started, adjusting my collar for my stuffy suit, "you said her father was among the ones poisoned?"
Mary nodded, her tone clipped but calm. "Count Valenne. A minor noble house, but quite old and renowned. Known for their wealth and personal ties to the Church."
"The Matyr title?"
"Now given posthumously to her father. Apparently." Her voice soured slightly at the end, and her expression looked distant.
"And this friend of yours," I added carefully, "she'll let you inspect the body?"
"She's close enough to me. And she'd never suspect I'd have… ulterior motives. Especially with my reputation among the faithful," Mary's voice had a faint edge to it. "It'll be easy. I'll simply say I wish to pay respects. That I intend to bless his remains personally, as a member of the Ecclesiarchy."
She glanced out the window as the city rolled by. "She'll say yes. People like her always do. They're too absorbed in flattery to question sincerity."
I studied her face. "You don't like her much."
Mary's lips curled. "She's exhausting."
I smirked slightly, but quickly changed back to my deadpan expression.
Never thought I'd hear you sick of noble nomenclature.
---
House Valenne sat tucked into the northern edge of the district - ornate gates, deep violet banners hanging from the arched entrance, and wrought iron fences shaped like climbing roses. Everything about it screamed a tasteful sort of wealth. Not gaudy, more intentional.
The automaton that answered the gate was sleek, bronze-plated with clockwork joints, and moved with smooth, uncanny grace. A rare luxury, even here.
"They're wealthy," I muttered under my breath.
Mary raised a brow, smirking faintly. "I was the one who connected them with a vendor from the capital."
Of course she was.
The automaton blinked once with glowing eyes, and opened the gate without question.
We were led through a marble courtyard where pale vines crept up the sides of manicured columns. The building itself was less intimidating than Cassian's manor-lighter stone, more windows - but every brick still whispered money.
Lady Thalia Valenne waited for us at the top of the stairs.
Blonde. Pale. Dressed in ivory silk with lilac trim. Her smile was perfect-measured and poised, the kind of expression trained in front of gilded mirrors since childhood.
"Mary," she said warmly, her armes extending for a hug. "You didn't write."
"I thought a surprise visit might suit the mood," Mary said, voice light, smile just as polished.
They embraced lightly - cheeks nearly touching, but not quite. Something I noticed ever so slightly.
Thalia's gaze flicked to me, a questioning gaze. "And your companion?"
"A friend," Mary said without skipping a beat. "He's been assisting the Ecclesiarchy, and is my assistant for the time being."
I grimaced inwardly, especially thankful she didn't ask for my name.
If she was at the ceremony, she'd know something was fishy.
Thalia's eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't press further, but her smile never moved, as polished as before.
She turned to me. "You must forgive me if I don't bow. I'm terribly out of practice with… clergy etiquette." She said with thin eyes.
"I don't require bows," I said, flat. Unable to emulate the noble etiquette they both exchanged with. Especially after her thinly veiled insult.
Her eyes lingered on me for a second too long before she looked away.
The tea room was drenched in natural light, with hanging plants trailing from silver fixtures and mirrors framed in copper and silver pearl. Everything sparkled in a gentle, excessive way, but it wasn't exactly distasteful.
I sat next to Mary as Thalia poured steaming white tea into glass cups. Her hand didn't tremble once, and she seemed oddly composed for someone who had lost her father very recently.
"I was heartbroken to hear about your father," Mary said smoothly. "I know how devoted he was to the Emperors words. I felt it only proper to offer my blessing before his ashes are committed."
Thalia's eyes shimmered faintly, but no tears fell.
"Heavy was his burden. I thank our Lord that he has found peace in his salvation." With delicate fingers, Thalia performed a familiar gesture - an emblem of faith drawn across her face, reminiscent of a Christian crossing their chest.
She closed her eyes, and clasped her hands in a prayer. "Yet, I already feel the weight of his responsibility on my shoulder. I pray to the Lord and his messenger that I make my father proud, despite my shortcomings."
Mary also clasped her hands in a prayer, and offered her some condolences. "Heavy is our collective burden as a people. Yet, your father was a man that toiled with out Lord in his forethought. There's no doubt he would be proud to see his legacy carried in your blood."
Thalia finished her prayer, and a small sad smile adorned her face, it seemed genuine this time. Though, I had my doubts.
"You're kind words mean a lot. Most haven't even visited. I think… they're afraid it might look like an accusation."
Mary's expression softened just enough to appear sincere, which almost convinced me. "Cowards. You and your family deserve better."
Thalia sipped from her cup, gaze flickering toward the empty hallway behind her.
"He was a good man," she said, her voice trembled slightly now. "I don't care what they say in whispers."
I can't even tell if they're being sincere or not.
"They shouldn't say anything," Mary offered.
"Still," Thalia added with a false-laugh, "you know how people are. When they can't see a wound, they assume it wasn't real. He died for the Empire, but they talk like he tripped over his own lies."
I watched Mary study her, golden eyes faintly glowing behind a mask of warmth.
"I'd still like to see him," Mary said aloud, setting her tea down. "If that's alright."
Thalia hesitated for half a second, as if she was contemplating the offer. Finally, she sat her tea cup down and lightly patted her dress.
She finally nodded. "Of course. They moved him to the Cryptarium for Matrys. I'll send one of the servants with a signet, It'll give you access and my family's blessing."
She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. "Just be careful. It's awfully cold down there, and I hear the other nobles are holding vigil for their own losses. The dead don't like to be disturbed, as so our Emperor decreed."
Mary offered her a final hug, and they both smiled at each other. Unlike before, where it seemed fake, I couldn't even tell if it was anymore.
A small tear left Thalia's eye, before she bid us farewell, waving us off as gracefully as before.
---
We left without ceremony.
The servant handed Mary a small medallion engraved with the Valenne crest - a twisted rose dripping three teardrops from its base. She pocketed it without comment, her eyes now a degree colder than before.
The carriage ride back toward the cryptarium was silent.
Her fingers drummed lightly against her knee—three beats, then again, and again. A strange pattern. Each finger tapped one extra time, like a quiet compulsion she wasn't aware of. I found it peculiar, yet oddly precise.
OCD maybe?
Finally, she decided to speak, still staring out the window.
"They didn't know," she finally muttered.
I didn't particularly looked shocked, but I offered a response at least.
"No?"
Mary sighed heavily, I could feel the weight she felt through her words, "I almost wish they did. That would've been easier."
I didn't answer, there was no need.
We stopped outside the Cryptarium for Matrys - an old structure at the edge of the district, half-carved into the rock itself. Statues lined the entryway. Each one weeping from hollow eyes, in the bodies of angels.
Creepy yet beautiful.
As we stepped toward the large, arched doors, Mary glanced at me.
"This is where they hold them," she said quietly. "The ones deemed Martyrs. They preserve the bodies until cremation. The Empire believes ashes rise quicker to the heavens."
"Do they?"
"I don't know, Lord forgive me."
She didn't speak. Just raised her fingers and formed a sigil across her face, a gesture that said more than any words could.
She held the door open for me.
"Let's go."